


Ain't Seen the Sunshine Since I Don't Know When

by plutonianshores



Series: I Know I Done Wrong [1]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Drugged Sex, Forced Orgasms, M/M, Mag 7 Kink Meme, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 09:15:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9600434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plutonianshores/pseuds/plutonianshores
Summary: Faraday is willing to die at Rose Creek. What he doesn't expect is waking up in Bartholomew Bogue's mansion as some sort of toy.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for [this kink meme prompt](http://mag7-kink-meme.dreamwidth.org/1188.html?thread=40612#cmt40612%22).

Before he woke up on silk sheets, Faraday thought he was dead.

The hazy sensation of riding over the prairie slung belly-down over a horse didn’t seem much like heaven, and even less like hell, which made him think that  maybe Vasquez had it right with his ideas about purgatory. Watching the grass move by through eyelids he couldn’t quite keep open didn’t seem a bad way to spend eternity, anyways.

Then he came to  in a bed finer than he’d ever felt, the ceiling above him spinning. The dull ache in his ribs brought his thoughts back into focus—he was laudanum-drunk, the drug dulling an ache in his ribs that was still managing to swim to the surface. Didn’t mean he wasn’t dead, but Faraday was starting to think he’d gotten himself in less-supernatural trouble. He couldn’t think of a way he’d have gotten from Rose Creek to naked in a rich man’s bed, and Faraday hadn’t lived this long by letting gift horses lie.

He looked around the room, going slowly so as to avoid the worst of the walls wavering when he turned his head. It took a while for his eyes to focus in on the blurry figure in the corner, and he swore under his breath when he saw who it was.

“You want to give me my clothes back, you bastard?”

Bogue raised an eyebrow at him. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

Faraday hadn’t, until then, thought about what Bogue wanted with him. Now that he was unbuttoning his trousers and staring at Faraday’s ass like a man outside a whorehouse just after payday, it was clearer than he’d like.

“Hate to say it, Bart, but you’re not exactly my type. I take ‘em blonder, younger, and better endowed on top.” If he could get his limbs to cooperate, he’d be getting ready to throw a punch at Bogue if he got any closer. Instead, Faraday barely managed to keep the man in his sights as he walked towards the bed.

“I usually take my lovers less mouthy, but you’ll have to do,” Bogue said, and then he flipped him over and dragged him backward by the hips, and Faraday had been around enough to know that him going in dry was going to hurt. He pressed his face into the pillow, willing himself to relax, but the bastard’s cock slid into his ass smooth as could be. Might have been worse than the alternative, that, because now Faraday had to imagine someone’s fingers inside him while he was out, getting him slick and ready for this—

Thinking about it made him gag. He tried to get his arms up under him, force Bogue off his back, but he only managed to flop like a drunk at the wrong end of a bar fight before Bogue ground his face into the pillow, smothering him for a few heart-stopping seconds.

“None of that, now,” he said, releasing the pressure on Faraday’s head and moving  his hands to stroke  Faraday’s back. “If you behave, you’ll find this much more pleasant.”

Faraday wanted to fight. It made him sick in the pit of his stomach to lie on his belly and let Bogue fuck him like a whore.

But the ache in his ribs had turned into pain like a knife in his side, and his arms were limp from the laudanum, and (oh God no) the feel of Bogue’s prick sliding in and out of him, the rhythm just ragged enough to keep his attention, was making his own prick ache and his legs weaken with pleasure, and, barring the desire to fight, he at least wanted to keep his goddamn mouth shut

This was a sick power play , and he wasn’t gonna give the bastard the satisfaction of knowing what was in his head. But the drug made the boundary between ‘in Faraday’s head’ and ‘out there in the air’ so very thin, and as hard as he tried, he couldn’t keep himself from babbling. It wasn’t anything particularly coherent, just a string of _stops_ and _fucks_ and a few moans that sounded too close to pleasure.

It _was_ pleasure, but he’d be damned if he let Bogue see it. Faraday couldn’t keep his thoughts straight in his head, and this was too close to good to ignore. Another night, he might have been facedown on a rough bed above a saloon, rocking up into the man fucking him. Another night, the hands trailing down his sides and the bites at the nape of his neck would have left him gasping for more. And Bogue knew what he was doing, his thrusts hitting Faraday just right. He’d got nothing to be thankful  for, but he did feel a swell of gratitude for the laudanum, which was making his cock as limp as his legs. He didn’t think he could  live with himself if he got it up for this.

The laudanum haze began to lift a bit, and suddenly Faraday could understand what Bogue was saying.

He would have given anything to shut his ears again.

“Fucking slut, lying there and taking it like this. You should have left your Chisolm for a brothel—you’re a better whore than you ever were a hero.”

Faraday willed himself not to move, although he could feel the sensation returning to his arms. Soon, Bogue would be distracted, soon…

He shoved Faraday’s face back into the bed when he spent himself, not letting Faraday up until he’d resigned himself to suffocating. Then Bogue stood up, and Faraday waited for his chance.

When Bogue bent to put his boots back on, Faraday went for his neck. The jump off the bed made his head spin, and he’d barely gotten a grip on Bogue’s collar when something hard met the side of his face.

“None of that,” Bogue said, calm as anything as he drove the butt of his pistol once again into Faraday’s cheekbone.

“I’ll kill you,” Faraday gasped. “I’ll do it, or Chisolm will.”

Bogue, bastard that he was, laughed. “Oh, do you think I let them live? I kept you because I have a use for you. The rest of your merry band of misfits weren’t nearly so enticing.”

The revelation sunk Faraday to the ground as strong as a punch to the gut. It shouldn’t have hurt so bad, losing a group he hadn’t even known a month ago. Somehow, though, it tore at him worse than waking up drugged in Bogue’s bed. He stayed on the floor after Bogue left, too dizzy from the grief or the laudanum or both to haul himself up into bed, and not sure he wanted to lie down on a rich man’s sheets that stank of sex.

 

The next day (at least, he thought it was the next day—the curtains were thick and never opened, and the laudanum blurred the line between sleep and waking), one of Bogue’s thugs brought in a tray with a bowl of soup and a length of rope. He pulled Faraday’s arms behind his back and tied his wrists, causing an afterthought of an ache that Faraday knew would hurt like a motherfucker once the drugs wore off. After the man stared at him long enough, Faraday got the hint as to what he was meant to be doing.

Didn’t mean he liked it. “How the fuck am I supposed to eat without my hands?”

The man’s only answer was a hostile glare. Then a voice from behind Faraday, close enough to make him jump, said, “Don’t take it personally. I’ve told all my men not to speak to you.”

“Give me a goddamn spoon.”

“If you’re not happy with the meal, you’re welcome to wait until tomorrow.”

The last thing Faraday wanted was to let Bogue watch him lap up a bowl of soup, but goddamn it, he was hungry. Drinking too-hot soup like a dog was almost as humiliating as getting fucked like a whore, and Bogue’s eyes on him made Faraday’s skin crawl.

Eventually, he fell to his side on the bed, exhausted by the pain in his ribs and not desperate enough to slurp the dregs of the meal from the bowl. As soon as his head touched the sheets, Bogue pulled him up by the hair.

“Not so fast. You’ve  yet to earn your meal.” He wiped a thumb across Faraday’s mouth to clear away the mess that meal had left, lingering in a way that would’ve had Faraday begging for something else on his lips if he was with anyone else. When Faraday sat still, trying to swallow the shame he felt in his throat, Bogue yanked at his hair again. “I trust I don’t have to explain this to you.”

Faraday got off the bed as best as he could without his hands, but he still stumbled getting to his knees, leaving his face pressed to Bogue’s hip. Bogue guided Faraday’s head to the bulge in his trousers with one hand as he undid the button at his waistband with the other, and then Faraday had his mouth shoved against Bogue’s bare prick and a gun pressed to his temple at the same time.

“If I feel so much as the hint of a bite, you’ll regret it. You could take a bullet in all sorts of appendages without losing your use to me.”

Faraday glared up at him, only succeeding in drawing a laugh.

Bogue set the gun to his side, and clenched Faraday’s jaw in his hand. “And make it good. You’ve been on your knees for men before, I’m sure you know how.”

He wanted to sit there with his mouth locked shut. He wanted to bite the motherfucker’s prick off. But he realized, with a sickening drop of his stomach, that he’d do anything to keep from dying.

So he shut his eyes and wrapped his lips around the head of Bogue’s cock, imagining he was anywhere but here. It wasn’t so different from  some of the rougher lovers he’d had. He just had to lick, and suck, and try not to make himself sick with the thought of what he was doing.

The rope bit into his wrists something fierce, but at least it gave him a sensation to focus on when Bogue started talking. That was the worst of it, the talking. He’d been right, Faraday was no stranger to going down on his knees for a man. The weight of a cock in his mouth, the bitter taste on his tongue, the ache in his jaw as he worked at it—that wasn’t new, and it wasn’t bad. But Bogue kept running his mouth about how Faraday was made for this, he was such a good slut, on his knees for Bogue, how he must have done this for the rest of the band of idiots who’d tried to take back Rose Creek.

Faraday would’ve walked away from any man who’d talk like that to him, no matter how good a lay he was. He had enough guilt on his own, lying just below the surface, to let someone else call him a whore. But he couldn’t stop listening, and god, most of it was true. Hadn’t he watched his companions carefully, searching for any sign of a flirtation? Hadn’t he let his mind wander, some nights on the road, to all of them lining up to fuck him? And now they were dead, and he was getting some twisted version of what he wanted.

When Bogue grabbed his head and began to thrust, it was a relief—he could focus more on _relax_ and _breathe_ and less on what he had wanted and what he deserved

Bogue pulled out when he spent himself, marking Faraday’s face. Faraday fell back, trying to keep his gasps hidden.

“Good boy.” Bogue said indulgently. Then he ruffled Faraday’s  hair and left, not bothering to undo the ties around his wrists.

 

Someone untied him eventually. Someone always came by eventually, to clean up after whatever Bogue had decided he wanted Faraday for that day. Faraday stopped keeping track of how long he’d been there, how many times Bogue had taken him on his back or his belly or his knees. The guilt got less sharp, excepting  the times it came up out of the fog of unease he was stuck in these days to stab him in the gut.

Mostly he got by, not quite remembering why he cared about living.

He remembered, most of the time, to avoid listening to Bogue. Better to shut up and let his mind wander. Problem was, Faraday had never been much good at keeping his mouth shut.

So one day, when Bogue hissed _filthy queer_ at Faraday while spending down his throat, Faraday looked up at him with a hollow sort of grin on his face and asked, “What’s that make you, then? ‘Cause I ain’t the one enjoying this.”

Bogue slapped him hard across the face, and the next morning, no one came with food. Damn fool that he was, Faraday let himself think that was all the punishment he’d get.

 

Until Bogue walked into the room with a few burly henchmen and a cock-shaped piece of wood, that was. Without the laudanum they’d been slipping into his food, Faraday had a bit more fight in him, but not enough to stop the men from tying him to the bedposts (although he did manage to land a few kicks).

“It seems my efforts haven’t been enough to satisfy you.” Faraday wanted so goddamn bad to punch the smirk off of Bogue’s face. “We’ll see if this helps.”

Bogue waved his men out, and sat down on the edge of the bed to begin slicking up the wood. It wasn’t ‘til it was a few feet from his face that Faraday realized just how big it was. “Don’t know about you, Bart, but I prefer my pricks man-sized.”

“Oh, I think you’ll like this well enough.”

Then he shoved his fingers up Faraday’s ass and wrapped his free hand around Faraday’s cock without pretense, ruthlessly getting him hard. Faraday tried to relax as Bogue withdrew his fingers and lined the wooden cock up against his ass, but _fuck_ , it hurt.

Bogue laughed when he bit back a shout, and kept stroking his cock. After weeks of getting fucked by a selfish bastard who hardly touched him, and without the laudanum to dampen things down, Faraday couldn’t help but react to his touch despite the pain. Or maybe Bogue was right, and he was a slut who’d get it up for anyone.

He was certainly getting it up for this, even as the wooden cock felt close to tearing him in half.  Faraday bit his lip to keep from screaming, and shut his eyes. The darkness only drew his attention more to the pain in his ass and the feel of Bogue’s fingers stroking him, but at least he didn’t have to look at the bastard’s smug grin.

He could still _hear_ Bogue, though, murmuring to him like a lover.

“You want this, don’t you? You need it, to satisfy you.” Bogue dragged his thumb over the head of Faraday’s cock, and Faraday moaned despite himself. “Or maybe even this isn’t enough. Perhaps I’ll let my men fuck you. How many of them could you take, do you think?”

Faraday spent himself under Bogue’s fingers, all too aware of what Bogue would make of that. At least it would put an end to his game.

Bogue kept stroking him through the orgasm, smiling at Faraday’s whine of pain. “You have more in you than that.” Then he worked the cock in further, and oh _god_ there went his determination to keep from shouting. If Faraday had thought he was being torn apart before, that was nothing compared to now. The cock slid in and out, making him moan each time it moved, and he couldn’t help but try to squirm away from Bogue’s relentless grip on his prick.

Through the onslaught, he felt his prick growing hard again. The worst of this, worse than Bogue’s jeers and worse than the pain, was that he couldn’t do anything but lie there and let it happen. He couldn’t even manage to keep his mouth shut.

“Please, stop…” Faraday sounded pitiful even to himself.

In response, Bogue grinned and fucked him harder. Faraday couldn’t even bring himself to move away--he couldn’t go far thanks to the ropes, and it would only jostle the cock more.

He screamed as Bogue tore a second orgasm from him. Bogue slid his hand down the length of Faraday’s cock a few more times, then wiped it against Faraday’s hip and released his grip.

“Stop,” Faraday pleaded again. “No more, _please_.”

Bogue gave the cock a few more leisurely thrusts, then slowly drew it out of Faraday. He sobbed, relief overcoming the humiliation of letting the bastard take him to pieces like that.

“Behave,” Bogue whispered, running a hand down Faraday’s cheek, “or I’ll have to remind you again just what a whore you are.”

 

Faraday fell asleep that night with one certainty—either Bogue died the next day, or he did. A day off the laudanum and he already felt less like he was moving through molasses; he knew he might not get a better chance than this.

Bogue didn’t bother drugging him up the next day. When he dropped his trousers and moved over to the bed, Faraday leaned up from where he’d sat on the edge of the mattress and kissed him.

“I can be good,” he murmured. He’d never been that good of a liar, so maybe he should have been grateful for the genuine break in his voice instead of sick.

Bogue smiled, and it took Faraday everything he had not to punch that smile off his face. “Show me.”

He hooked his legs around Bogue’s waist, tugging the man forward ‘til his prick was pressed up against Faraday’s ass. Then Faraday guided Bogue inside him, ignoring the pain from yesterday. When he had enough leverage, Faraday flipped them both, leaving him sitting on Bogue’s lap. The panic in Bogue’s eyes faded into a familiar lust when Faraday ground down and let out a moan.

“That’s it,” Bogue groaned. “God, what a whore!”

The fucking came automatically. Faraday watched, and waited, and when Bogue’s breathing grew shallow and his eyes fluttered shut, wrapped his hands around Bogue’s neck.

He pressed down with everything he had. In response to Bogue’s desperate gasps, Faraday spat in  his face.

“I ain’t your _fucking_ whore,” he hissed.

The door opened, but Faraday didn’t look away from Bogue’s face. If he was gonna die today, he wanted to go out watching the life leave this bastard’s eyes.

A shot rang out. Faraday flinched back as something wet and red ( _blood, must be blood_ ) spattered his face. Aside from the ringing in his ears and the wetness on his face, he didn’t feel much worse for wear. Faraday would’ve thought that getting shot in the head would hurt more. Then he realized— _not my blood_ . _Bogue’s, not mine_. It took him a few moments to see the gun in Bogue’s now-still hand, and a few more to look up at the doorway and see a familiar face.

“I really am dead, then.” He grinned at Chisolm, ignoring the confusion on his face. “Excuse me a moment.” He grabbed the gun from Bogue’s hand and let off three shots into his face, until he didn’t look human, and another shot to his prick for good measure.

Chisolm laid a hand on Faraday’s shoulder, his calm not wavering when Faraday shrugged it away. “We should leave.”

“He told me you were dead.” Faraday waved the gun in Bogue’s direction. “Anyone else crawl back outta hell while I was locked up here?”

“Vasquez and Red Harvest are downstairs.” Chisolm threw Faraday Bogue’s discarded trousers. “Get dressed, son. We took the town, and Bogue ran back here to regroup. He closed off the routes in and out of Rose Creek as best he could, but it seems it took him some time to replace the gun you went and destroyed.”

Faraday put on the trousers, wincing a bit at the movement and at the tightness around his gut, and began to pull on Bogue’s shirt. “I oughta  tell you, this ain’t what it looks like—”

“I had my own run-in with the man, when I was young.” Chisolm looked tired all of a sudden, eyes looking somewhere far away. “I know about his penchant for raping his captives.”

That didn’t seem the right word, rape. Women were raped, virgins who were taken advantage of by bad men. Faraday was already a bad man ( _a fucking queer_ , a voice like Bogue’s whispered in his head), and if he’d given away everything Bogue had taken from him to other men, it barely counted as stealing.

“You don’t tell a soul.”

Chisolm shook his head. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The others looked at him a bit funny when he walked unsteadily down, eyes catching on the blood spattered across his shirtfront.

“It ain’t mine,” Faraday said with what he hoped passed for a cocky smile. He looked around at the bodies littering the floor, then up at Vasquez’s guns and Red Harvest’s knives (which looked familiar, though Faraday couldn’t place them). “My apologies for leaving you to do the work.”

“You did enough,” Vasquez said. It took Faraday longer than it should to realize that was serious. He was covered in blood— _not mine—_ and holding a gun, they must think he was actually useful.

“Yeah.” Faraday shrugged. “Let’s get outta here.”

 

Faraday had never been happier than that day, riding away and watching that goddamn house shrink into nothing. Though it might not have been such a good idea to get on a horse today. The motion was making him sick. So was the sun, and the wind, and everything else.

Next thing he knew, the movement had stopped and someone was propping him up. He panicked at the feeling of skin against his before he looked over and saw definitely-not-Bogue’s arm. Red Harvest. Not Bogue.

Chisolm rode up beside him. “You should ride with me.”

“I can get myself to wherever we’re going!” Faraday tried to sit up in the saddle, and would have fallen right off if Red Harvest hadn’t grabbed his arm.

“It would be a waste if you died now.”

It still took Faraday by surprise when Red Harvest actually spoke. “Thanks, buddy,” he said, making a face at Chisolm over his shoulder. “I feel the same about you.”

Chisolm wasn’t as distracted by his wit as Faraday had hoped. “On the horse, Joshua.”

It wasn’t so bad a ride, really, even if the arms brushing at his waist made his skin crawl. He was too damn tired to be embarrassed, and this way he didn’t have to put all his focus toward staying on the horse. Easy enough to let Chisolm help him back to the town where the others had evidently decided to settle for a bit  (nowhere familiar, although Faraday was tired enough that he might not’ve recognized his own hometown). A little harder on his pride to let everyone help him up to the rooms they’d apparently rented ( _I’ll take it out of your wages_ , Chisolm laughed when Faraday asked), but god _damn_ did the hotel have a lot of stairs.

He didn’t even bother taking off his clothes ( _Bogue’s clothes_ ) before getting into bed.

Small-town scratchy sheets and a lumpy mattress had never felt so good.

**Author's Note:**

> Work Title from Johnny Cash's "Folsom Prison Blues", series title from "The Streets of Laredo" (my favorite Sad Cowboy Song since childhood). I hope to have a sequel up soon, but I'm a horribly slow writer.
> 
> A million thanks to [Telm_393](http://archiveofourown.org/users/telm_393) for betaing, and catching all of my horrible historical and continuity errors (my apologies for leaving in the pants).
> 
> Also, probably don't think too hard about how and why the battle at Rose Creek ended up this way. I certainly didn't ;)


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